


I've Just Seen a Face

by Attila



Series: that fluffy cop AU [1]
Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, F/F, Fluff, POV Outsider, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 20:10:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1830748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attila/pseuds/Attila
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Fashion Week in New York, someone's stolen a shirt, and one of the most notorious criminals in the world is in town for a holiday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Just Seen a Face

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the Beatles song of the same name. Apologies again for how much I clearly don't know about how actual police departments are actually run (and also about Fashion Week).
> 
> Apologies also for the apparently _really obvious_ (according to my sister) fact that this was supposed to be a lot longer, and then I couldn't come up with a plot. Um. Sorry!

“There’s been a crime,” Artie yells, striding into the room and past their desks.

“Great,” Claudia mutters, spinning around in her chair and staring at the ceiling. “Someone call the cops.”

He hits her on the back of the head as he passes by, and she yelps, jerking upright. “Cute,” he says. “You and Bering, my office.”

“It was one snarky comment!” she protests as she drags herself out of her chair with an over-dramatic groan. “And what are you going to make Myka do, monitor my language?”

“What I am going to make Myka do,” Artie says, fake-patient, “is take you with her while she _arrests the one who did it_.”

Claudia blinks, staring at him. “Wait—you mean? Oh my god, is this my first case? I get to do something other than run prints and update our security? Artiesaurus!” she yells, and throws herself at him.

“Okay, okay,” he says, flailing and pushing her off. “That’s enough! Claudia!”

“Right, sorry,” she says, holding her hands up and then crossing them over her chest and trying to look serious. “I am professional.”

“Of course you are,” Artie mutters and turns towards his office.

“Hey, wait a second,” Pete says. “ _Claudia’s_ going with Myka? What about me?”

“You,” Artie says firmly, “are still not cleared for duty.”

“I got roofied, so what,” Pete protests, and Myka rolls her eyes.

“Roofied and then _shot_ ,” she says. “I think the second one is more what he’s worried about.”

“Come on, it was a flesh wound,” Pete whines.

“Dude, tell me you aren’t being the black knight from _Holy Grail_ ,” Claudia says, raising her eyebrows. “Because that is, like, the worst case you could make for yourself.”

“The what from what?” Artie says and then holds up his hands, shaking his head. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.”

“Wait, do you not know Monty Python?” Claudia says, feeling her entire brain come to a screeching halt. “I mean, I knew you were out of touch, but—”

“Claudia,” Artie says. “Could we maybe focus instead on the _enormous theft_ that’s taken place instead of old British comedy groups?”

“I _knew_ you had to know them!” Claudia cries gleefully, but she sobers up at his look. “Right, yes, theft. Very important police work. I am a valuable member of the team.”

“That’s better,” Artie says. “Come on. You too, Myka.”

“Sure, Artie,” Myka says, but she laughs when Claudia does finger-guns at Pete.

“You are such a loser,” he says, sticking his tongue out at her.

“A loser who is _going on a case_!” Claudia says. “And guess who isn’t? That’s right, _that_ loser over there. Who’s the bigger loser now, huh?”

“Claudia!” Artie yells from his office, and she jumps.

“Right, I’m coming!” she shouts and practically skids in. “Uh, present and accounted for. Sir.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“So, uh, what _incredibly important_ thing has been stolen?” Claudia says, crossing her arms over her chest and looking down her nose in an _incredibly important_ way.

“Quit that, you look ridiculous,” says Artie, because he’s a mean old grump. “Someone’s stolen a shirt—”

Claudia gapes, holding up her hands to stop him out. “ _Seriously_? That’s it? A _shirt_? Some first case.”

“I wasn’t finished—” Artie starts, but this time _Myka_ interrupts him.

“It’s Fashion Week,” she says. “Someone stole a shirt from one of the designers.”

Artie glares at her. “That’s right,” he says at last, grudgingly. “So, yes, Claudia, this is an ‘incredibly important’ theft.”

“It’s a shirt,” she mutters.

“It’s worth six figures,” Artie snaps, and Claudia actually takes a step back.

“Dude, seriously? It’s a shirt!” she says.

“It’s a shirt created by one of the most famous designers in the world,” Artie growls. “Even just the design is worth a fortune on the black market. The shirt itself…”

“Got it,” Claudia says, impressed. “So, we have any suspects?”

“Possibly,” Artie says, “This designer was doing a line inspired by notorious criminals, though why anyone would ever want to buy a dress inspired by Al Capone is beyond me.”

“Who was the shirt based on?” Myka says. “Do you have a picture, by the way?”

“Oh,” Artie says, patting at his pockets and pulling one out. “Of course. Here.”

Myka makes a face when she takes it. “I don’t understand high fashion,” she says, looking at it with distaste.

Claudia peeks over her shoulder. “I dunno, I kind of like it, actually,” she says.

Myka grimaces. “Seriously? It looks ridiculous.”

“It’s kind of steampunk,” Claudia says, tilting her head to the side as she inspects it. “I like it. It’s cool.”

“I’m sorry, could we stop discussion your clothing preferences and get back to the case?” Artie says, tapping his fingers on his desk impatiently and raising his eyebrows at them.

“Right,” Myka says. “So, who was this inspired by?”

“A woman named H.G. Wells,” Artie says. “Helena…something. She’s an infamous criminal largely based out of Europe. Mostly Britain, but that entire continent is so small she could probably hit up a German museum and be home for dinner. As far as I’m aware, she’s never had any business in the US.”

Myka sighs. “I guess that would’ve been too obvious.”

“I’ll have Pete look into any of her known associates or nemeses anyway,” Artie says.

“The woman has _nemeses_?” Claudia mutters, but quietly enough that Artie lets it go with just a glare.

“It’s not outside the realm of possibility that there’s some connection,” he continues, “but chances are decent someone’s just doing it for the money.”

“Great,” Myka says. “Thanks. Claudia and I will go talk to the designer, see if this might be personal or if there’s been anyone snooping around lately.”

“Good,” Artie says. “Get this done before the FBI hops on it, you hear me? Keep this away from those poachers. We can close big cases _on our own_.”

Myka rolls her eyes. “They’re not _poachers_ , Artie, they’re federal agents with jurisdiction.”

“Semantics,” Artie growls. “They’ve stolen their last case from us.”

“Sure, dude, okay,” Claudia says, letting her skepticism show on her face. “Did you drink too much caffeine this morning or something?”

Artie glares at her. “Go catch a bad guy!” he yells.

“Right, right, fine,” Claudia says, rolling her eyes. Artie is such a _drama queen_. “Catching a bad guy, getting on it right now.”

\--

The designer is completely unhelpful—though according to Myka, the default state for anyone involved in a criminal investigation _is_ completely unhelpful—but as they’re leaving, Pete calls.

“You got something?” Myka says, switching her phone to speaker and holding it out in front of her, one hand on her hip.

“Yeah,” Pete says, his voice tinny through the tiny speaker. “You’re never gonna believe this, Mykes. Guess who’s in town? _H.G Wells_. That criminal the shirt was ‘inspired by’ or whatever. She got in about a week ago. Even had the gall to check in under her own name.”

“You’re kidding me,” Myka says, giving Claudia a significant look. She’s not totally sure what it’s signifying—other than the fact that this H.G. is ankle deep in suspicious, which was kind of obvious—but it’s very significant. “That’s plenty of time to get set up and steal the shirt.”

“Dude, I didn’t believe it either,” Pete says. “Just seems too obvious, right? But she’s here all right, and I bet you anything she at least had _something_ to do with the theft.”

“Too coincidental for her not to,” Myka says. “This is fantastic, Pete, thanks. Do you have an address?”

“Yeah,” Pete says, and Claudia can hear him moving around. “She’s staying at the Hotel Plaza Athénée. 37 East 64th. You got that?”

“Oh, yeah,” Myka says. “We got that. Thanks, Pete, talk to you later.” She snaps the phone closed and turns a huge smile on Claudia. “Come on, Claud, we get to go talk to one of the most notorious European criminals of the twenty-first century.”

Claudia does a fist pump. “Oh, yeah. Best first case _ever_. Bet Pete’s jealous.”

“Claudia, he got _shot_ , you should be nicer,” Myka says, but she’s smiling.

\--

“This place gets less name recognition than Waldorf Astoria or one of the Ritz-Carltons, but it’s one of the nicest and most expensive hotels in the city,” Myka says as they get out of her car. “Wells is doing pretty well for herself.”

“Yeah, well, you know that thing about crime not paying?” Claudia says. “ _Totally_ not true.”

“I hope you’re not considering a move back to your previous occupation, oh master hacker,” Myka says dryly. “Artie would be so hurt. And after we’ve finally finished getting you fully rehabilitated and everything.”

“Hey, I am _not_ fully rehabilitated,” Claudia protests. “I am still a very dangerous character, I’ll have you know.” Myka turns and raises her eyebrows, and Claudia backtracks. “I mean… Totally rehabilitated, don’t know what I was babbling about, so into _being_ law enforcement instead of kidnapping law enforcement, I would never do that again, haha… Uh.”

Luckily, Myka just laughs. “It’s okay, Claud, nobody’s arresting you.”

“You’d better not be,” Claudia says. “I’m a _detective_ now.”

“Yes, you are,” Myka says, smiling fondly. Claudia kind of wants to give her a hug. “Now, let’s see if we can’t crack H.G. Wells.”

The receptionist at the front desk gives them Wells’s room number easily enough after Myka flashes her badge. Claudia kind of wanted to get to do the badge flashing, actually, but Myka is more professional looking and also got there first.

“So, uh,” she says when they get into the elevator, “what’s our approach here?”

“What do you mean?” Myka says.

Claudia makes a vague motion with her hands that might look like she’s hitting something or also possibly like she’s batting a fly away. “How do we, uh, crack her? You know, make her squeal?”

Myka makes a face. “Ask her politely? And then ask her more pointedly?”

Claudia stares at her. “Seriously? Come on, we’ve got to be able to do better than that.”

“We’re the police, Claudia, not the mob,” Myka says patiently. “Whatever other members of our…less-than-currently-illustrious profession might think. We have no evidence to suggest she’s done _anything_. We ask her politely, and if she lets us, we look around a little. Not that I think she’s stupid enough to be keeping the shirt in her hotel room. If she were, she’d be in prison by now.”

“So, we just say, ‘yo, dude, feel like copping to stealing this shirt?’ and see if she says _yes_?” Claudia says, trying to inject her extreme skepticism into every word.

Myka gives her the same look she gives Pete sometimes when he’s done something extremely stupid or eaten something gross. “No,” she says as the doors open and they step out onto Wells’s floor. “We ask her several questions, not limited to whether or not she did it, get her alibi and check her story.”

“Soo…sneaky,” Claudia says, considering it. “Okay, that sounds like fun.”

“It’s not _sneaky_ ,” Myka says. “It’s…it’s good detective work, it’s… Okay, fine. It can be sneaky.”

They stop in front of the right room, and Myka raps on the door. “Just one moment!” a voice calls from inside, and a minute later, a gorgeous woman with long black hair opens the door and leans on the frame, smiling at them. “Hello,” she says, looking them up and down. “My, the police coming to see me already? And I’ve barely been in the city a week, you _are_ quick. I don’t suppose there’s any chance this is my welcoming committee.”

Claudia blinks and looks at Myka quickly, who has her eyes narrowed slightly and is looking suspiciously at the woman who must be H.G. Wells.

“I didn’t tell you we were police,” Myka says.

“Darling, when you’ve had as many different policemen as I have come to your door in _exactly_ this way, you’ll learn to recognize them too,” Wells says, smiling. “Well. Won’t you come in?”

Without waiting for an answer, she turns and walks back into the suite, clearly expecting them to follow. After a beat, they do, and Claudia whistles softly. “Damn,” she whispers. “I take it back about being rehabilitated. I want to live like _this_.”

“Do sit down,” Wells says, gesturing at the _awesome_ couches. “Can I get either of you something to drink? Some tea?”

“No,” Myka says quickly. “We’re fine, thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” Wells says, arranging herself on a couch, lounging against the arm. “What can I do for you? What is it you think I’ve done?” She smiles in a bemused kind of way and gestures at a coffee table that’s heaped with newspapers. “Nothing’s even made the papers, so I’m afraid you’ve found me quite at a loss.”

“Of course you are,” Claudia mutters, but apparently not quietly enough, because Wells looks at her and raises an artful eyebrow.

“I assure you, I have no idea why you might want to speak with me,” she says. “Other than my winning personality and stunning good looks, of course, Detective…?”

“Donovan,” Claudia blurts after remembering that that’s _her_. “Claudia Donovan.”

“Lovely to meet you, Detective Donovan,” Wells says. “And your partner, Detective…?”

“Myka Bering,” Myka says, much more smoothly than Claudia managed.

“And you already know who I am, I imagine,” Wells says, smiling. “So that’s that sorted. Now, what is it you think I’ve—”

“Mom!” a voice cries, cutting her off, and a little girl comes running out of one of the other rooms and throws herself onto the couch next to Wells.

“Christina!” Wells says, her cocky smile dissolving into a bright, real one. She wraps one arm around the girls’ shoulders and pulls her close. “What is it, my dearest?”

“I made you a picture,” apparently-Christina says breathlessly. She holds out a piece of paper and all but shoves it into Wells’s face. “Look!”

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s beautiful,” Wells says, taking it from her and inspecting it thoroughly. “Where shall we put it?”

“I don’t know,” Christina says, shrugging with all the indifference of a child who is used to having their every accomplishment cooed over. “Wherever, I guess. Who are they?”

Wells glances up from the picture briefly. “Police, darling. That’s Detective Bering, and that’s Detective Donovan.”

“Oh,” Christina says, completely unfazed. “What do they think you did?”

“They haven’t told me yet,” Wells says. “Something _terribly_ exciting, no doubt.”

Christina giggles. Claudia kind of feels like a) this totally adorable kid should not know her mom has a habit of being questioned by the police and b) she shouldn’t find it _funny_. “Can I show them my picture?” Christina says.

“Of course!” Wells says, and the looks she gives Myka and Claudia says that they will compliment it _or else_. Claudia is maybe having a little trouble reconciling H.G. Wells, infamous criminal mastermind, and H.G. Wells, doting mother.

“Hi!” Christina says, managing to dump herself right between Claudia and Myka on the couch, despite the fact that there hadn’t been that much room there before. “Look what I drew!”

“Wow, that’s amazing,” Claudia says automatically, before she even gets a good look, because that is what you _say_ to kids, and also, Wells is still giving her that look. When she collects herself enough to manage to actually inspect it, though, she’s reasonably impressed. Not like this kid is the second coming of Renoir or anything, but it’s _good_ , considering she’s, like, eight or something. “Wow, that really is,” she says and then winces, because she can _hear_ the surprise in her own voice. “I mean, wow, you’re so talented, I wasn’t expecting to find such a good artist in such a, uh, humble place like this.” She’s pretty sure she hears Wells snort, but she powers through. “What are you, some kind of prodigy?”

Christina frowns at her and then turns to look across the room. “Prodigy?” she says.

“Someone exceedingly talented at a very young age, dear,” Wells says patiently. “Like, oh, say, Mozart.”

Christina makes a face. “He was some old dead pianist, right?”

“Why, you uncultured brat,” Wells says, laughing delightedly. “He was much more than merely a _pianist_.”

Christina shrugs, rolling her eyes very carefully, clearly making sure that they make a full circle, and Claudia muffles a laugh. _She’d_ done that when she was little too. “He’s still _dead_ , Mom,” Christina says. “Who’s someone who isn’t _dead_?”

“My child, ladies and gentleman,” Wells says, clasping a hand melodramatically to her chest. “How sharper than the serpent’s tooth—”

“Why do you always _say_ that,” Christina says. “What’s that even _from_?”

“Oh, honestly, it’s only from _King Lear_ , one of the most famous plays ever written in the English language,” Wells says. “Shouldn’t you have read that by now—scratch that, you’re far too young for that play.”

“Ooh,” Christina says, perking up. “That sounds interesting.”

“It would, you hoyden,” Wells says. “Now say ‘thank you’ to Detective Donovan, she’s said lovely things about you.”

“Oh!” Christina says. “Right.” She turns to Claudia and _beams_ , and Claudia feels a part of her cold, hard heart (okay, she’s a softy, but a girl can pretend) melt. “Thank you very much for saying my picture is good and that I’m, um, exceedingly talented at a very young age.”

Claudia resists the urge to ruffle her hair, but barely. “You’re welcome, kid. It was all totally true, anyway.”

Christina smiles at her. “Thanks!” She then, very seriously turns to Myka and holds out the paper expectantly. Myka, unlike Claudia, actually takes it and looks at it very carefully before saying anything. _Claudia_ actually fidgets waiting, because she thinks Wells might kill them, and also, she doesn’t want to hurt Christina’s feelings. Besides, it’s just a picture of an elephant in bright red and yellow and green crayon swirls on a more muted watercolor background. Like, it’s cool, but she doesn’t think it deserves the scrutiny Myka’s giving it.

At last, Myka looks up and smiles genuinely at Christina. “This is _very good_ ,” she says, perhaps more seriously than most people would bother being about some kid’s elephant drawing. “I love the contrasts you’ve made—changing the medium as well as the color scheme was inspired, it really brings the elephant out and highlights it at the foreground.”

“Wow, thanks!” Christina says, smiling brighter than ever. “Did you hear that, Mom?”

“I most certainly did, darling,” Wells says, one eyebrow pointedly raised. “Quite the art critic, aren’t we, Detective Bering. That’s not something that goes with the job description, is it?”

“I don’t know about _your_ job description,” Myka says acidly. “But some of us happen to _read_.”

Wells’s other eyebrow goes up, and then without warning, she busts out laughing. “Just so, Detective Bering,” she says. “Well. I shall certainly remember not to underestimate _you_ again, and certainly not in the world of art.”

“Yeah,” Myka says, evidently unamused. “Just remember that the next time you want to steal a painting from a New York museum.”

“Detective Bering, I am _hurt_ by your—completely unfounded, I might add—accusations,” Wells says, laying one hand lightly on her heart. Claudia rolls her mental eyes and adds ‘total drama queen’ to her current list of H.G. Wells attributes. “Until this visit, I had barely had any occasion to visit your fair city and certainly not to, shall we say, _move_ any of its finer works of art,” Wells goes on. “Unless that’s what you’ve come to accuse me of? Art theft?”

“No one’s accusing anyone of anything,” Myka says evenly. “And also, no, that’s not it.”

“Well, at least we’re coming to the heart of the matter,” Wells says cheerfully. “Christina, darling, come here.” She stretches one arm out along the top of the couch, and Christina runs to her eagerly, cuddling up against her side as Wells wraps the arm around her. “Now. Detectives. Just what is it you think I might be, ah, of use in investigating?” She smiles politely. “Since we aren’t making accusations.”

“We’re _not_ ,” Claudia protests, even though they kind of are, at least in their heads. But Christina’s _adorable_ , and she a little bit doesn’t want to accuse her mother of anything in front of such a cute kid.

Wells laughs. “Detective Donovan, you and I both know that for someone such as myself, just the act of coming to my door was as good as an accusation. I’d prefer not to beat around the bush, but I don’t mind couching this little exercise in manners if you feel we must. So. What are you investigating, then?”

Claudia trades a glance with Myka and then sits back, trying to do the subtle equivalent of holding up her hands and saying, “This one’s all you, bro.” It works, at any rate, because Myka leans forward and says, “Ms. Wells—”

“H.G., please,” Wells says smoothly. “I hate to be called ‘Ms.’ by beautiful women, don’t you?”

There’s a short pause, where Claudia tries to parse that and also not let her eyes bug out of her head, until Myka clears her throat. “ _Ms. Wells_ ,” she repeats steadily, while Wells sighs and throws up her free hand in apparent exasperation, “I assume you are aware that a prominent designer is basing a line of high fashion on various criminals?”

“Alleged criminals,” Wells says. “Innocent until proven guilty, as they say in your charming little country.”

“ _Little_?” Claudia says, flabbergasted. “You’re from _England_. That’s practically the size of Maine!”

“Ah, but we have _ever_ so much more class,” Wells says, winking at her.

“If we could get back to the subject at hand?” Myka says, rubbing her forehead. “Ms. Wells?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yes, yes, I’m quite aware, of course.”

“Great,” Myka says. “And also that one of the items of clothing was said to be inspired by you?”

“Well, I am very inspiring,” Wells says brightly. When Myka just stares at her, she sighs and says, “Yes, _of course_ I’m aware. How could I fail to be?”

“You were informed? Or you’re just that conceited?” Myka says and then straightens abruptly, looking horrified at herself. Claudia swings over to stare at her, mouth open in astonished delight.

Wells stares too, but then a corner of her mouth quirks up and she says, “Well, I am _quite_ full of myself, and let the record show that I was big enough to admit that, but no, I was referring to the interviews the designer conducted with me and, as far as I’m aware, most of the other inspirations.” When Claudia and Myka stare at her blankly, her eyebrows go up again. “You weren’t aware of that,” she says slowly.

Myka looks at Claudia, who is trying to convey ‘what the fuck, man?’ with her eyebrows, and says, “No, we were not.”

There’s a brief pause, and then Wells says, “May I make a simple intuitive leap and assume that one of the articles of clothing was stolen, or will you in turn assume that this meant I had prior knowledge of the robbery?”

Myka’s lips press outwards into a smile briefly before she sobers up and says, “I wasn’t exactly being subtle.”

“Marvelous,” Wells says. “And you’ve already talked to the designer, naturally. Who said nothing about talking to numerous alleged criminals about the work?”

“Not a word,” Myka admits after a short beat. “I shouldn’t tell you that, but it was obvious anyway. I guess you caught us off guard.”

“And I imagine that is a very unusual feeling for you, Detective Bering,” Wells says, winning another quickly suppressed smile. “Hmm. Curiouser and curiouser.”

“That’s not proper grammar, Mom,” Christina says, poking her.

“It’s from _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_ , dear, haven’t you read that yet?” Wells says absently, stroking her daughter’s head.

“No,” Christina says.

“I’ll start reading it to you tonight. How’s that, darling, hmm?” Wells says, looking down at her and tweaking her nose. “I have a feeling you’ll enjoy it very much.”

“Okay!” Christina says, beaming up at her mother like she hangs the moon, and Claudia has to swallow around a lump in her throat. Criminals should not be allowed to have children. It humanizes them too much and gets you thinking about what would happen to their adorable daughters who clearly love them very much if anything ever happened to them. Like jail. For instance.

“Ms. Wells?” Myka says, breaking in gently.

“Of course, Detective Bering,” H.G. says, straightening. “Yes?”

“Why do you think the designer might choose to withhold crucial information like that?”

“You’re asking me?” H.G. says. “I’m neither a detective nor the designer in question.”

“Yes, but I think you have a more twisted mind than most detectives,” Myka says wryly.

“A ‘more _twisted_ mind’?” H.G. says, smiling. “You know, I’m not certain if that’s a compliment or an insult, Detective Bering.”

“Well, you should take it in the spirit in which it was given, Ms. Wells,” Myka says, her lips twitching up.

“Ah,” H.G. says, leaning forward as much as she can with her daughter still tucked under one arm, “but you didn’t tell me what spirit that was.”

Myka presses her lips together, _clearly_ trying not to smile more. “Well, you didn’t answer my question.”

H.G. cocks her head to the side, not even pretending to hide her own smile. “Neither did you.”

Claudia, who’s been watching this exchange like a tennis match, turning her head eagerly at each new volley, shakes herself out of it. “Ooooookay!” she says. “But really, though.”

“Oh,” H.G. says, blinking in a disoriented way. “Uh, yes. Why would the designer omit the information about the interviews, right? Well, the most obvious answer is that one of the other criminals he interviewed released sensitive information regarding a crime he or she committed, in essence making the designer an accomplice after the fact. Even though you would be—I assume—unlikely to prosecute, talking might ruin his credibility with the, ah, community and prevent him from repeating the interview process or keeping those contacts.”

Claudia makes a face. “And do you think some bozo _did_ that? Bragged to the designer about a crime?”

H.G. shrugs elegantly. “If they were the right combination of arrogant, stupid, and fond of hearing themselves talk? Easily.”

“So that’s what _you_ did, is what you’re telling us,” Myka says, smirking slightly.

“Why, _Detective Bering_ ,” H.G. says, mock horrified. “I categorically object to that. Arrogant and fond of the sound of my own voice I will accept with dignity, but _stupid_? Please, Detective. Look up some of my alleged heists, if you will, and I guarantee that your poor opinion of me will change.”

“I’m sure it won’t,” Myka mutters, and H.G. sniffs primly. “So, what’s the least obvious answer?”

H.G. blinks. “I beg your pardon?”

“You said that was the most obvious answer,” Myka says patiently, though she has a bit of smirk that says she’s pleased she managed to throw H.G. off a little. “What’s the least?”

“Ah, yes,” H.G. says, nodding seriously. “Aliens.”

Myka rolls her eyes. “Ms. Wells.”

“Detective Bering,” H.G. says, mimicking her. She leans forward, and Myka’s eyes flick down for a second towards the cleavage that movement reveals. Claudia snorts inadvertently. Luckily, the two of them have stopped even pretending they remember there are other people in the room, so they don’t so much as glance at her

“I’m being serious,” Myka says.

“So was I,” H.G. says, but when Myka just _looks_ at her, she sighs. Claudia gets that. She usually sighs when Myka _looks_ at her too. “Mass conspiracy? The designer’s in on it and is trying to keep you away from his associates? The problem, Detective Bering, with the least obvious answer is that it is, of course—”

“Not obvious,” Myka finishes with her, rolling her eyes. “Of course.”

“Well, it’s just all so clear when you put it like that,” H.G. says teasingly, and Claudia gives up and starts laughing hysterically. Myka and H.G. both turn to her and raise their eyebrows in unison, and she takes one look at them and loses it again.

“Is there a problem, dear?” H.G. says, in that high-class British accent, and Myka says, “Claudia, hon, everything okay?” and Claudia kind of waves at them in a hopefully placating way as she puts her head between her knees and wheezes.

“You two,” she gasps out, “should have, like, a _tv show_ or something, _god_.”

“I beg your pardon?” H.G. says, and Claudia swears to tiny lizard jesus, she can _hear_ the eyebrows go up even farther.

“It’s—with the banter and the teasing and the flirting, you two are _amazing_ , people would absolutely watch it, we could have our very own crime sitcom with just the two of you and all be millionaires, except I don’t do money-making schemes anymore, because I’m reformed,” she says all in one breath, because right after, she has to start laughing again.

“We’re not _flirting_ , Claudia,” Myka says, sounding vaguely horrified, and Claudia has to look at her and raise her own eyebrows—and screw you, her eyebrows are perfectly shaped and totally raisable too—because no, they were flirting.

“Oh, no, I was flirting,” H.G. says cheerfully. “Definitely flirting. I don’t know how you could mistake that for anything else.”

“What? No!” Myka says, flushing and staring at H.G. “That was—investigative police work.”

H.G. laughs. “Is _that_ what they call it in America?”

Myka glares at her. “I am a police detective. I don’t flirt with criminals!”

“That’s a pity, you’re gorgeous,” H.G. says, totally without shame.

“That’s not— Stop that!” Myka snaps.

“Stop what?” H.G. says innocently. “Noticing you’re gorgeous? That _is_ going to be difficult, now that I’ve seen your eyes. I don’t know what color you call that, but I’m pretty sure I could happily drown in them.”

Myka stares at her, opening and closing her mouth incoherently, and Claudia laughs again. “Now that was just cheesy,” she says.

H.G. winks at her. “Her beauty has made me forget all of my best lines.” She sighs, mock-sad. “I’ve been reduced to cliché.”

“Yeah, tragic, isn’t it?” Claudia says, rolling her eyes.

“Excuse you, I am _very_ smooth,” H.G. says.

“You know,” Claudia says, grinning at her, “I actually totally bet you are.”

“Claudia!” Myka says. “Stop encouraging her.”

“Oh, believe me, I need no encouragement,” H.G. says.

“I believe you,” Myka says flatly, and H.G. laughs again.

“Well, I must say, this is the most _fun_ I’ve ever had during a police interrogation,” she says cheerfully. “And that’s including the time Scotland Yard thought they had me pinned down for a robbery at the British Museum and didn’t realize that I’d actually been _in their cells_ at the time of the theft.”

Myka starts to say something and stops, blinking. “That’s… How did they miss that?”

“You know, I have no idea,” H.G. says. “But it was _hilarious_.”

“Oh, yes, the failings of law enforcement to help keep people and their property safe,” Myka says. “So funny.”

“You just have to look at it from the right perspective, darling,” H.G. says. “For example, that of an alleged criminal.”

“I’m sure,” Myka says. “Can we get back to the point?”

“The loveliness of your eyes?” H.G. says. “I’d love to.”

“The _shirt_ that was stolen,” Myka says pointedly.

“Ah, yes, that,” H.G. says, sighing. “What about it?”

“Did you ever see the designs?” Myka says.

H.G. raises a single perfect eyebrow, skepticism practically radiating off of her. “Did the designer ever show the unreleased designs for a very expensive shirt to an alleged thief and unscrupulous criminal? No one’s _that_ stupid.”

Myka grins again, though she immediately presses her lips together like she’s trying to hide it. “Fair enough. So you have no idea what it looks like?”

“Isn’t that what I just said?” H.G. asks.

“No,” Myka says, smiling openly now. “You said the designer didn’t show it to you.”

H.G. stares at her and then starts laughing. “Quite right you are, Detective Bering. Well, then—I have no idea what the shirt you say was stolen looks like.”

“Could you venture a guess?” Myka persists.

“Now, Detective Bering, how would I be able to do that?” H.G. says, a tiny smirk on her lips. “After all, I don’t even know who the shirt was inspired by.”

Claudia blinks. “Oh my god, that’s right, we never told you!” She whirls around to look at Myka. “You were trying to catch her out! That’s so _sneaky_ , I love it.”

Myka gives her a very patient look. “Yes, thank you, Claudia.”

Claudia slumps. “Oh, right. Don’t tell the criminal your sneaky plan.”

“That’s all right, darling. It isn’t as if I hadn’t already worked it out,” H.G. says comfortingly.

Myka sighs. “It’s fine, Claudia.” To H.G., she adds, “We’re going to need your alibi.”

“Of course,” H.G. says. “For what time?”

“Between ten and eleven last night,” Myka says.

“My, that’s even reasonably specific,” H.G. says.

“Mom had a friend over last night,” Christina pipes up, and Claudia jumps. She’d almost forgotten the kid was there.

“That’s right,” H.G. says, though it takes a beat, and she looks a little awkward for a second.

“He stayed all night, too,” Christina says cheerfully. “Mom kicked him out this morning, though, and she wouldn’t let me talk to him.”

Myka raises her eyebrows, and Claudia stifles a snicker in her sleeve. H.G. glares at both of them and says, “Christina, sweetheart, run into the next room and cover your ears.”

“ _Mom_ ,” Christina says, sounding injured, but H.G. shakes her head.

“You may come back in two minutes,” she says. “Go, go!” She shoos her off the couch, and Christina goes, though she’s pouting.

“So,” Claudia says once the kid is gone. “A sex friend, huh.”

H.G. scowls at her. “Yes, Detective Donovan, a ‘sex friend.’ I’m a grown woman; I do believe I’m allowed.”

“We’ll need his contact information,” Myka says evenly, though she’s smirking.

“I barely know the man,” H.G. says flatly. “I’m not certain I even know his last name.”

“That will make it very hard to confirm your alibi,” Myka tells her.

H.G. sighs, pursing her lips. “One moment.” She gets up and walks over to the kitchen area, opening the trash can next to the sink and, making a face, rummaging around a bit. At last she pulls out a piece of paper, puts it on the counter and pointedly washes her hands. She walks back over to them and holds out the paper. “Name and number.”

Claudia snorts. “The trash can? _Cold_.”

H.G. rolls her eyes. “I’m only in town for a week or two, I’m hardly looking for a relationship. Nevertheless, he should confirm that we were both here all night.”

“Thank you,” Myka says, taking it, though she wrinkles her nose when she does and very delicately puts it into an evidence bag.

“You’re _very_ welcome,” H.G. says, smiling winningly.

“I’m holding the name and number of your one-night stand from yesterday that you threw in the trash this morning, and you think _now_ you should flirt?” Myka says incredulously.

“My timing leaves a little something to be desired, I’ll admit,” H.G. admits. “Nevertheless—dinner?”

“Thank you very much for your cooperation, Ms. Wells,” Myka says, ignoring her and standing up. “Come on, Claudia, we’re done.”

“Oh, right,” Claudia says, jumping to her feet and dusting off her lap. Not that she’s gotten anything on it, but—that’s what people do, right? “Yeah, uh, let’s go.”

“Of course,” H.G. says. “Christina!”

“You don’t even _want_ me there,” Christina yells from a different room.

Claudia sniggers, and H.G. sighs. “Honestly, _children_ ,” she mutters. More loudly, she adds, “Sweetheart, our guests are leaving. Don’t you want to say goodbye?”

There’s a moment of silence and then, “Coming!”

“Do let her say goodbye,” H.G. says, smiling at them as they reach the door. “She’s such a friendly child.”

Christina runs into the room, smiling brightly, hair bouncing behind her, and Claudia beams at her, because she’s _adorable_. “Bye, Detective Donovan!” Christina says and gives her a big hug. Claudia almost chokes up.

“Bye, munchkin,” she says, patting her on the head and hugging back. “Don’t let your mom bring you to the Dark Side. Remember the way of the Force.”

Christina pulls back, rolling her eyes expressively. “People are always saying things like that to me,” she says.

“Well, you should listen to them,” Claudia tells her firmly.

“Sure,” Christina says patiently. “I’m Princess Leia, Mom’s Darth Vader, I know. But I’m not gonna listen to you until you until you find my twin brother.”

“Oh my god, you’re actually perfect,” Claudia says and hugs her again.

“I know,” Christina says, sighing. Then she hugs Myka. “Bye, Detective Bering.”

“Bye, honey,” Myka says, hugging her back awkwardly.

“Are you going to go on a date with my mom?” Christina says as she pulls back. “Since you were flirting?”

H.G. laughs. “Sweetheart, have no fear, Detective Bering won’t give me the time of day.”

“It’s a little after three-thirty in the afternoon,” Myka says, clearly just to be contrary, and H.G. bursts out laughing.

“Well, in that case,” she says, and Myka laughs too.

“You did it, didn’t you,” she says, still smiling.

H.G. smiles back. “Why, Detective Bering, you have my alibi.”

“And you know what, I have a feeling it’s going to check out,” Myka says, grinning. “But you absolutely did it, didn’t you.”

H.G. smirks, looking to the side, and then she leans forward, one hand on her hip. “Prove it.”

“Oh, I’m going to,” Myka says, opening the door behind her. “I’m going to put you behind bars, Ms. Wells.”

“I look forward to it,” H.G. says, her voice dropping an octave, and then waves as they exit.

“Did she really do it?” Claudia says after the door closes behind her.

“Oh, _definitely_ ,” Myka says, grinning darkly. “Pete’s usually the one with gut feelings about this stuff, but she definitely did it, and she thinks she’s going to get away with it.”

“But she’s not, because we’re on the case!” Claudia says, hopping into an action movie pose. “Right?”

“Right,” says Myka, laughing at her.

“Oh, but hey,” Claudia says as they walk down the hallway back to the elevators. “You liked her, right? Or, should I say, you _liked_ her? Am I right?”

“Claudia.”

“I mean, let’s be honest, you were practically batting your eyelashes in there, is all I’m saying.”

“Claudia!”

\--

“Find out anything interesting?” Pete says, leaning back in his chair to look at them upside-down when they get back to the precinct.

Myka smacks the back of his head lightly so that he sits up straight again and says, “Careful, you’ll tear open your shoulder again.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Pete whines, but he sighs and obediently sits up. “Seriously, did you get anything good on Wells?”

“Got her alibi,” Claudia says, shoving a couple of piles of paper to the side and perching on the side of his desk. “But Myka thinks she’s lying.”

“Hey, those were organized!” Pete says, putting his hands out to catch the piles and keep them upright.

“Yeah, sure,” Claudia says, rolling her eyes. “By how recently they’d landed on your desk.”

Pete makes a face at her. “That can be a very valuable organizational system,” he protests. “Someone says, ‘No, Pete, I gave that to you on Tuesday,’ and I say, ‘Oh, okay, let me go to my Tuesday section,’ and everything’s fine until people go around trying to sit on them.”

“Clear your desk off, man,” Claudia says unsympathetically. “Do your filing drawers even have _anything_ in them?”

Pete pauses, stroking an imaginary beard. “Do cobwebs count?”

“Only the ones in your head,” Claudia says, giggling, and she tumbles off the desk when he takes a swipe at her.

“Does no one remember that we have a very important job to do?” Myka says, flicking the evidence bag with H.G.’s alibi in it onto Pete’s desk.

“Myka just wants an excuse to go interrogate the perp again,” Claudia tells Pete conspiratorially, picking herself off the floor. She’s a detective now; she totally gets to say things like ‘perp,’ otherwise, what’s the point?

“Yeah?” Pete says, reaching down to give her a hand. Gossip trumps petty filing differences every time. “Why? Has she got rare first editions in her hotel room?”

“Haha,” Myka says dryly. “Claudia—” she starts, but Claudia doesn’t let her finish.

“Myka’s got a _crush_ ,” she says gleefully. “Like, they spent the entire interview making really intense eye-contact and smiling and doing witty banter. It was like a scene out a really high budget rom com. With better writers.”

Pete gapes. “H.G. Wells is still a woman, right?”

“Last I checked,” Claudia says, rolling her eyes, and Pete’s eyes kind of glaze over. She makes a face. “You’re not thinking sexy thoughts about Myka, are you?”

Pete actually gags and chokes, and she pounds him on the back helpfully. “ _God_ ,” he says hoarsely. “Why would you make me think that?”

“You looked like you were having sexy thoughts!” Claudia protests.

“Yeah!” Pete says. “About _H.G. Wells_! And—and nameless, faceless, unidentifiable, _non-Myka_ women.”

“Would both of you just— _stop_ ,” Myka says, breaking into the conversation and staring at both of them incredulously, arms crossed over her chest. “Someone check her alibi so we can prove it’s bullshit, okay?”

“You think she did it?” Pete says. “What about your epic love affair?”

“There is _no epic love affair_ ,” Myka snaps. “I have had one conversation with the woman!”

“Yeah, but there was Eye Contact,” Claudia says pointedly.

“Claudia,” Myka says, faux-patiently, “ _we_ have eye contact.”

“Nah, man, we have eye contact,” Claudia says, shaking her head briskly. “You and H.G. had Eye Contact.”

“Oh, hey, I can totally hear the capital letters!” Pete says.

“Oh, yeah!” Claudia says, holding her hand up. “Vocal intonation five!”

“Somebody check her _alibi_ ,” Myka says desperately as they high-five.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Pete says dejectedly, turning to pick up the evidence bag and the phone. “So, why are you so sure it was her? Was there something especially suspicious in her hotel room?”

“Not that I…saw…” Myka says, trailing off.

Pete swivels around in his chair when she stops talking. “Mykes? The hotel room? Anything interesting about it?”

“I…” Myka flushes. “I forgot to ask if I could look around.”

Pete’s mouth falls open. “You _forgot_?”

“She was distracted,” Claudia says gleefully.

“By what? Her _boobies_?” Pete says, a shit-eating grin spreading over his face. Myka glares at him, and he starts to crack up. “You got distracted by the hot criminal’s boobs! Ha! Who’s unprofessional _now_?”

“Still you,” Myka mutters and marches back towards the elevators. “Claudia!” she yells over her shoulder. “Come _on_.”

\--

When they show up at H.G.’s hotel room again half an hour later, she raises her eyebrows, leaning on the open door. “Forget something?”

Myka grits her teeth, and Claudia, unable to help herself, starts sniggering. Myka ignores her, but H.G. glances over, looking bemused. “Ms. Wells,” Myka says, and she’d be the picture of politeness if she didn’t kind of look like she’s fantasizing about murder. “Would it be all right if we had a look around your rooms?”

H.G. starts to smile. “Ah,” she says. “So you _did_ forget something.”

“Please, Ms. Wells,” Myka says tightly. “It’s just routine.”

“I’m sure,” H.G. says and smirks. “And do you have a warrant?”

Myka drops the act and just straight-up glares at her. “No.”

“So I can say no,” H.G. says cheerfully, clearly enjoying herself.

“Yes,” Myka says, crossing her arms. “But we would appreciate your cooperation in this, Ms. Wells.”

“I’ll tell you what,” H.G. says, running a hand through her hair and looking at Myka speculatively. “Call me H.G., and you can look at _anything_ you want.”

Myka stares at her for a long minute, and then unexpectedly grins, looking away. Turning back, she puts her hands on her hips and says, smirking, “Please let us in. Helena.”

There’s a beat of absolute silence, and then H.G. starts laughing, shaking her head. “Well,” she says at last, stepping back and opening the door properly. “Anything at all to get you into the bedroom, darling.”

**Author's Note:**

> To start with, this fic would not exist without any of you guys. Seriously--I would never have written a prequel to the other thing if you guys hadn't asked, hadn't sent so many nice messages, and hadn't left so many nice kudos. So, if you are reading this right now, if you read "She Loves You (Yeah, Yeah, Yeah)," I wrote this for you. Without remembering how much I love all of you, I would've gotten bogged down in the first thousand words and given up. I hope you enjoy the fruits of how great you are, and I hope you had fun reading this.
> 
> This fic also wouldn't exist without zornslemon/acommonrose, who reads everything I write and puts up with my whining (and let me tell you, there was a lot of whining). If you were happy to see this fic, go thank her for dealing with my shit, because if she didn't, I have no idea what I would do.
> 
> If you had fun reading this (or if you just want to say hi!), I'd love to hear from you! Drop me a comment here or at my [tumblr](http://www.attilarrific.tumblr.com).


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